She pulls him into a quick and tight hug, not lingering because danger could be at her back any moment. As soon as she's let him go she's taken a more open stance, so that they both can see if any dark forms are hulking towards them in the mist.

"I'm glad I found you," she says. It's true. He's one of the ones she worries most about. "Are you okay?"

She doesn't know if it's the fog bothering his usual lingering cough (which she suspects is a psychosomatic tic, but hasn't actually said anything about) or if he's taken some sort of blow to the chest. Or been poisoned. Either is likely.

"We're going to want to find shelter. They didn't give us warm jackets for nothing."